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Poem by William Blake


Songs of Experience. Holy Thursday


Is this a holy thing to see.
In a rich and fruitful land.
Babes reduced to misery.
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns
It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine.
And where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall. 



William Blake


William Blake's other poems:
  1. Songs of Experience. The Little Girl Found
  2. Songs of Experience. Nurse's Song
  3. A Divine Image
  4. Eternity
  5. Songs of Experience. The Sick Rose


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